RHIANNON, CROW, CAT & SINS OF THE PAST
THE GRAND REVEAL
It looks like the sore on the face of Crow’s Nest is finally ready to be one no more! You read it here first and don’t you ever forget it. The famed Atelier, the second-oldest building on Dragons, will re-open tomorrow! The iron sign was installed in the early hours of the morning, and as its tarp is to be removed soon, the entire town is waiting to see what the renegade Crowhart will name her business. Watch this space, or go down Market Square yourself.
—Crow’s Caw
Rhiannon rolledher eyes and set her phone down. Why was she reading the Crow’s Nest gossipy paper every other morning was anyone’s guess.
“It’s entertaining. And the mystery of who is behind it keeps the people guessing.” Pru peeked at her between the folds of the towel she had been trying to wrap her drying hair with. Freshly showered, she took a sip from Rhiannon’s coffee mug, makinga face. It was too sweet and too milky for her, and Rhiannon smiled at the little grimace. Then she caught herself at how domestic this all felt. She couldn’t help but think of years gone by and how in another life, she had nothing like this.
Wasted, wasted lifetimes.
And she couldn’t help but remember the night when Prudence shared her power with her. She could still feel the sharp longing it left behind, the gentle caress of it doing more to break down her walls than any counter-spell. Rhiannon never believed in the tales of fated mates, her free will paramount to her, and yet… Ceridwen’s voice telling stories about the craft finding its match, the sisters all listening to her with bated breath, dreaming, wishing…
Rhiannon was too old for fairy tales and too damaged for useless wishes. She’d made her choices and was paying her price. And Prudence? A beautiful dream, one they’d both awaken from soon enough when Rhiannon’s time on the island was over.
So she set the paper down and tried to remember what they had been talking about.
“Whoever is behind it needs better grammar. And maybe something truly newsworthy for a change.”
“Crowharts are always newsworthy. Though I can say with certainty that for the past few years there was barely any mention of you all in the Caw.”
Rhiannon pouted for a second before deciding that the town’s rag was not worth it. She’d be yesterday’s news a few days from now, and after all, any publicity was good publicity. Not that she needed much of it.
“They will likely sneak into your grand opening.” Pru finally sat down next to her, having doctored her own coffee to her satisfaction. Rhiannon pushed the plate of freshly baked muffins toward her.
“You’re spoiling me. These look amazing.” Pru took her time choosing and then carefully tore a chunk from the blueberry one.
“I had trouble sleeping in. And there really isn’t much of a grand opening. The tarp is ready to come down from the sign, that’s all. Lachlan wants to do something special for when the shop is actually fully finished, have hors d’oeuvres, cocktails. I don’t know, we shall see. I have a few weeks to consider that anyway. Not like I need the noise, my clients’ list is full, I have work for years. And selling what I restore outside of the bespoke commissions had never been an issue.” Rhiannon caught herself speaking so casually about the business, which was a complete antithesis to how she thought of her life in every other aspect. She sighed, topped off her own coffee then simply covered Pru’s stilled hand with hers. “I’m… While the entrepreneur acumen of it is slowly coming back to me, this… Us… I’m out of practice, Prudence. Of sharing a bed. Of sharing myself.”
“I haven’t asked you for either.” Prudence split her already small piece of muffin in half. Then in quarters. The restraint of not asking any questions was something Rhiannon was immediately grateful for. But some things needed to be said. Needed to be spoken so they’d solidify. And hopefully give them both some peace.
“No, you haven’t.” Rhiannon reached out and casually snagged one of the pieces from Prudence’s plate, trying to make her smile. It might be like pulling out her own fingernails to her, but she didn’t have to let Prudence know that. Rhiannon could feel her magic, the tentative reach of it toward hers. It was sweet and gentle and it cut her worse than a knife would, slashing through the barrier spell and demanding all her control to stop her own power from answering the call. “You haven’t asked. But I will. And it’s unfair since I am the one so casualty stealing your food. But would you mind not sharing?”
The gray turned shades darker in Prudence’s eyes as they watched Rhiannon over the rim of her mug, both of them understanding they were no longer discussing food. Then she popped a piece of muffin in her mouth. When she answered, it had the finality of a court’s handed verdict.
“I won’t. And you won’t.
Prudence’s answer was simple. Final. And perfect. When she finished the crumbles on her plate, she reached for a cranberry muffin, splitting it into halves and handing one to Rhiannon.
As their hands touched and the silver flame of connection sprung unbidden, scalding Rhiannon’s hand, Pru didn’t blink, and her voice sounded casual when she murmured, “It had always been yours to begin with.”
Rhiannon allowed the magic to run through her, just this once, savoring the truth of Pru’s statement being reflected in her power.
Yes, mine. Always had been, indeed. Shame I can only give it but the smallest pieces of myself.
The Caw must’ve gottenpeople in town curious, as the unveiling of the front sign brought her quite a number of gawkers and not just tourists. In fact, it was mostly townspeople who stopped by, complimented, discussed, and either wished her luck or looked at the building with unrestrained skepticism.
“An antique store?” Marsha McMons, the owner of the doggy daycare, gave the tarp the stink eye. “Like we don’t have twelve of those on Main already? Couldn’t you have done anything else with this place? It’s one of the oldest on the island.”
“We have fourteen antique stores on Main and two on Broad. And you kept your big mouth shut when they broke ground for those last ones.” Victoria gave Marsha a stink eye of her own.
The woman yelped as something pinched her side and Victoria glared at the man standing next to her. “Jerry, why don’t you keep your hands to yourself!” As Marsha and Jerry the fisherman squabbled, Rhiannon fought to hide a grin. Trust her aunt to hex people in the middle of Market Square in broad daylight and blame it on an innocent bystander.
The construction tarp kept the sign from being completely revealed, and it tickled Rhiannon to keep some of the mystery to herself for a few more minutes.
“You’re in a cheery mood, girl. Did Prudence Ophelia toss your salad?” Victoria didn’t even bother to lower her voice. Marsha, Jerry, and half of the spectators gaped. Rhiannon choked on thin air and felt the blush rise up from her low-cut dress.
